


Victor's Room

by pendragonfics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Domestic Fluff, F/M, M/M, Mutant Powers, Secret Relationship, Slice of Life, Timeline? What Timeline?, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23024641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragonfics/pseuds/pendragonfics
Summary: There was a place in the house where if the curtains were drawn back, the sun would come inside at just the right angle. It wasn’t much of a luxury, but as far as things go, it was the best place to be.
Relationships: Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Victor Creed/Reader, Victor Creed/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Victor's Room

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request on my Tumblr!

There was a place in the house where if the curtains were drawn back, the sun would come inside at _just_ the right angle. It wasn’t much of a luxury, but as far as things go, it was the best place to be. Sure, living in a shared home wasn’t glamourous as far as sharing a bathroom was, and a house that was also a school could get a bit crazy, especially in the term time. But now on the second day of a long weekend, where many of the teens who attended Professor Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters were allowed home for the duration, it was _heaven._

It just so happened that the place in the house that you loved so much, was in your boyfriend’s room. Sure, he and his brother rarely saw eye-to-eye on issues, but Victor was now nothing if not a reformed bad boy and never did anything bad these days. Well, the worst he’s ever done to you was watch _Game of Thrones_ ahead of you and one time, he ate the last slice of pizza from under your nose.

How _ghastly_!

You just couldn’t see him as a bad guy; when anyone called him ‘Sabretooth’, you couldn’t see him as the wolfman that they spoke of. It just made you think of that animated Palaeolithic film from 2002. If anyone was going to pick up that he was bad, it was going to be you - _especially_ since your mutation was what they called ‘telepathic empathy’. Sure, you could make people feel things against their will, but you also felt _their_ feelings…and when you were around Victor, you felt anything but bad vibes.

It was almost time for the sun to hit the right spot, and grabbing all the things you needed to make a good afternoon an even better one, you try to hold onto them as you make your way to Victor’s room. Piotr offered to lend a hand, but what more was admitting defeat than allowing someone whose codename was literally _Colossus_ carry your things? You passed Scott and Jean making out in the home cinema, totally ignoring the total cinematic masterpiece on-screen of _American Ultra_ to trade saliva. They didn’t notice you, and so you kept on walking, making your way up the stairs.

Halfway through your struggle up the stairs, you wondered why a house owned by a disabled man had so many stairs. Professor X had to be super-rich; why wouldn’t he kit his school to be accessible? Just as you made it to the second-floor landing, you felt your notebook slipping from under your arm, but reaching for it, you almost drop the stolen tub of Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream.

Everything slides out then, just like a skit based on predictable misfortune.

“Oh _no_!” you stage-whisper to yourself. Sure, this sort of events was foreseeable, and you _did_ have too much in your arms, but who would have thought?

You scoop up your things, trying to cram every pen back into your fist, tucking a spoon in your back jeans’ pocket, looping all the books into your arms once more. But that’s when you hear a chuckle. Looking up, you see your boyfriend’s brother. You understand why Jean would have the occasional hots for him. But he’s not your preferred hot beverage; he looks dirty all the time and smells of sweat, wet dog, and cigarettes, and if asked, you wouldn’t lie, those metal claws kind of freak you out.

“Need a hand?” he asks.

You play it off. “Hand?” you laugh off, “No thanks, I’ve already got two.” Scooping the last book up, you continue your way to the third floor, where Victor’s room awaits your lounging for the lazy afternoon.

But halfway up the stairs, you realise that the man known as the Wolverine is still standing there, unbothered by your remark, but considerably curious. You don’t blame him; it’s not often that you, the school’s guidance councillor, left your office. And it’s even less often that you would steal a tub of ice-cream from the communal fridge and abscond with a bad pun. But you don’t owe him anything, hell, nobody knows that you’ve been seeing Victor for the last six months; it’s kept on the down-low for a reason, much less for your own sake, but for the sanity of those around you.

“Are you waiting for someone?” you ask, confused.

“You left your…bear?” Logan holds up a novelty eraser, and sure enough, the pencil-topper is absent from one of the pencils in your hands. You motion to him with a nod, and he tosses it to you. Effortlessly, you catch it in your laden arms as if they’re one large baseball glove (and you’re soon to make a home run). “…take care now.” he nods in return and continues onward to his way. It was just your luck that he was going in the opposite direction from you.

You take the long way to Victor’s room, if there’s any hope of ever shaking off anyone from the trail, and managing, at last, to get to his door, you open it with an elbow, enter, and close it behind you with your shoe. The sunlight is almost at the right spot, and you rush to it, unloading the burden you carry onto the small two-person fainting couch. It’s a small piece of furniture, antique, and a reminder of the bygone era that the old house used to be to the upper echelon of society.

Just as you sit, the door to the small en-suite opens. He stands at the edge of the tiles, in only his plaid flannelette pyjama bottoms, shirtless. He holds the hand towel, wiping his hands, and sees you just as he’s putting it back on the rack, and uncharacteristically for the former Magneto-aligned mutant, shares a smile with you.

“Right on time,” he chuckles.

“I got ice-cream,” you hold out the spoon to him with a flourish, and like that’s the magic word, he’s at your side at the fainting couch in a second. “Wow, Vic,” you quip, “you must love vanilla.”

“It’s not that I love,” he retorts. He’s fast, and before you realise, he’s planted a small kiss to your hairline, he’s already breaking into the tub, and scooping an amount for himself. “How’d you know this is what I wanted to do all day?” He says through his mouthful.

You feel your face heat up, somewhat ashamed at being so in-tune with your boyfriend, somewhat unbothered for your efforts. “I suppose…it’s something that I like to do, and you’re also something I like, and the sun isn’t too bad in this spot…”

He nods along, scooping once more. But this time, he holds it to you, and carefully, he feeds you a taste of the ice-cream that you absconded with. It’s delicious, but in all honesty, it’s better when it’s shared with your Victor.

“I can smell my brother,” he says, offhand.

“I think he’s catching on.”

“…let him guess, a little longer. I like having you all to myself,” Victor smiles. His sharp teeth peek from his lips, and it sends a sliver of a shiver down your spine. “If that’s okay with you?”

You lean forward, placing your head against his bare chest, relishing his touch, his scent, his presence. “Yeah,” you reply softly, “that sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr on as @chaotic--lovely, and if you want to request a fic, check out [@pendragonfics](https://pendragonfics.tumblr.com/request_conditions)! ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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